Sins Of The Inner Sanctum
by Hartabound
Summary: They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but what is there to see and what of the light when the soul is as haunted and as hollow as Van Helsing'
1. Only The Beginning

_A/N: My first Van Helsing fic, and works along the premise that Van Helsing is growing even more reluctant at the part he has to play in God's great plan. The disillusionment grows when Van Helsing finds himself fighting to regain his lost memories and fighting to keep the Count from getting hold of a young woman who may just prove the weapon he needs to condemn the rest of humanity._**  
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* * *

**Sins Of The Inner Sanctum**

**Chapter 1- 'Only The Beginning…'**

_Van Helsing pulled away from the Count, breathing hard and his hands dripping with blood. He'd plunged the stake good and true deep into Dracula's black heart. And still the centuries old vampire smiled. Even as his hands wrapped around the wooden implement protruding from his chest and wrenched it out with a grunt, still he smiled._

_How many times…Van Helsing wondered, how many times would he have to kill this thing before it would end? He had lost so much over the years, Anna and later Carl, and every time he had thought he had achieved some sort of victory Dracula would return. _

_And the hunt would culminate in this final fight, and every damn time the Count would offer him that cold smile._

'_It's over Count…' Van Helsing muttered, the words sounding hollow and empty to his ears. Knowing, always knowing that even as his age old foe shook his head, it was not over. It was never over._

'_Oh come…dear boy. It is only the beginning…' Dracula smiled wider still, pointed fangs protruding from his sadistic grin. And then there was that familiar flash of blinding light and he would be gone._

_And Van Helsing would fall to his knees, tired and broken. Feeling as if the latest fight had aged him a hundred more years, with new bruises and fresh scars to add to the growing collection on his ill used body. _

_It was never over._

He awoke with a start, flinging the flimsy blanket away and trying to vaguely familiarise himself with his surroundings. The campfire had burnt out and he could see the pathetic form on the other side of the now defunct fire, bundled under his blankets but still shivering slightly.

Van Helsing allowed himself a small smile then, before getting up to find fresh tinder for the fire. He reflected on his now frequent nightmares as he moved noiselessly around the small clearing where they had spent the night.

They were not dreams as such, but visions. Abject views of things to come. Events that had already passed and that were yet to pass, the anniversary of Anna's death had come and passed and Carl's death…well that was a pain he had yet to endure.

Somehow in the visions he always knew that Carl was dead, although they did not reveal to him how the friar had died. He looked over at the figure again and sighed. The man had been his faithful companion for the past three years, had followed him into every dangerous situation and every mission they underwent.

He had not done it without his fair share of grumbling or his seemingly never ending adages on how much danger he was continually finding himself in, but inevitably Carl always followed.

Just as Van Helsing always knew he would, never doubting the man's courage that although appeared as if needed to be coaxed or threatened out was never wavering, and after a while it became less clear who was saving whom.

Carl could have left at any point, Van Helsing would not have blamed him; the ingenious preacher had left him with enough of his ingeniously designed weapons to take on a small army. But Carl stayed, because however petulant or impossible Van Helsing became, after Anna Van Helsing needed someone and something of a constant, something to still believe in.

Though it was a burden he would never care to share, Carl knew being the right hand man of God was a testament and a test to the enormity of anyone's faith. Van Helsing was beginning to wear his scars as loudly as the cross. The simple piece of metal around his neck was weighing him down, Carl could see, as any man of faith can, one who is taught the art of introspective reflection that Van Helsing, the warrior of the church, was beginning to lose faith and gain in resentment.

For his part, Van Helsing was equally glad of Carl's company, he needed something of the light, for he found that never is the dark more encroaching than when one is alone.

He lit the fire and sat back on his haunches to watch it gain in strength. Carl was going to die and Van Helsing was helpless to prevent it, he did not how it would happen, or when but the certainty of it happening was a knowledge that held heavy over his heart.

And it was at these times when he doubted, when he took the metal cross around his neck in his hands and removed the clasp. He would hold it in his palm and weigh it, knowing that each time he did it got heavier. And each time he would replace it around his neck, because it was a constant, a normality only now Van Helsing was burdened with a little less conviction.

Because Anna had died and at his hands, and Carl was going to die, but the darkness, the darkness never died. Evil like the warlocks they chased, the werewolves they slay and the monsters they banished all were allowed to survive and gain in strength, but souls as beautiful as Anna's and as strong as Carl's were stripped from this world to be pushed forth into the next.

He had asked Carl how it was that Dracula could return, but the friar seemed to have no answers, and his choice of platitudes that in all things there must be a balance, a seeming equal between good and evil for the choice for mankind to make had only left Van Helsing bitter and frustrated.

After all he was left, and the Count was left, to fight through time immemorial, through to a never seeming end, there was no blessed respite for him. Condemned to fight and alone, the church's warrior Van Helsing was always alone. And he hated it.


	2. Something Of The Night

**Part 2- 'Something of the night…'**

_1813, Poland present day_

Van Helsing pulled his hat lower over his head its wide rim casting a shadow over almost all his face, Carl did the same with his hood. Obscuring their features would always be a necessity, as long as the order maintained the rule that Van Helsing's work was to be done undercover and in the cloak of shadows, Van Helsing would be forced to carry the stigma of being the most wanted man in Europe.

And the most wanted man inevitably had the biggest reward against his name.

They walked quickly and quietly through the village their horses being trailed alongside them; fortunately the place they were looking for was on the outskirts of the village. Hopefully they would pass through unnoticed.

It was a pretty little place set in the small valley just outside the Polish forests of Bialoweiza; where the line of trees ended along the ridge of a steep hill and ran down to meet a rapid flowing river. Though small, Pzarszina had become an important route for travellers wishing to cut down on the time it would take to ascend the opposite hill and into the next major town of Czorsa.

The shortcut had worked to the villagers' advantage, weary travellers after having made through the dark and often dangerous woods of Bialoweiza needed to be fed, needed warm beds, clean clothes and pleasant company. Pzarszina would provide all of that, and being in such a convenient location and having such necessary amenities allowed the somewhat unscrupulous villagers to demand whichever extortionate prices they wished.

Pzarszina was thriving, or at least it had been.

The order had not sent Van Helsing to the picturesque village for sightseeing, the village had been seemingly been cursed, their loved ones were going missing. Their dead loved ones.

As the night passed, the morning would bring with it the spectre of another empty grave, another opened casket and a missing body. The residents had attributed the gruesome phenomenon at first to nothing more than grave robbers stealing away the corpses but it soon became clear that it was something infinitely worse.

Having appointed the strongest man of the village as a deterrent he was eventually discovered face down in the mud the next morning, barely alive and mumbling something about walking corpses and skeletons.

_

* * *

1615 Western Siberia_

_The new Countess Romanovsky it was generally stated had something of the night about her, or such were the words of those who were polite, for the rest stated in no less hushed tones that what she had about her was something akin to the devil._

_The manner in which the Count had remarried so soon after the death of his first wife perhaps added to the idea that she had wrought some sort of spell. Not a soul had heard of Anastasia, the pale skinned, raven haired beauty with the blood red lips that had so soon become the new Countess. _

_But they soon did, she had made a deal with the devil, or as good as, she had made a deal with Count Vladislaus Dracula. Not one of the Romanovsky household or the village for which they were patrons was spared the onslaught. Those who were strong were turned, and for the next few days Dracula and his new coven fed unabated on those too weak to be useful._

_Anastasia Romanovsky's deal involved her unborn child, conceived with the her husband but offered to Dracula, when he finally turned her, it was with the child still in her stomach, in essence the as of yet unborn had become an extension of the undead. Dracula and Anastasia had finally succeeded in creating their hybrid. A creature merged, an unholy alliance of the two, enough of a human still, but with the characteristics of a vampire, all of their strengths and none of their weaknesses._

_Free from an aversion to sunlight, not able to be hurt by silver and with an insatiable thirst to feed. Dracula could not have been more proud of the child than if he had sired her himself. And so it was that Ilyana Romanovsky made her way into the world, blessed and cursed in equal measure.  
_

_

* * *

Vladov Kinsky made his way silently across the stone floor, listening carefully for sounds from the adjoining bed chamber. He approached the cot in the centre of the room and stood stock still, not daring to breathe._

_It had been difficult enough dispatching of the guard at the door, he was never entirely sure the crude sleeping spell he had only lately mastered would be enough to render the thing unconscious, and true enough it had served instead to make the vampire only slightly groggy and very angry. But it was enough for him and his lithe fifteen year old hands were found to be just a little too quick for the undead guard, and Vladov had taken his chance and plunged the stake deep into the things heart. _

_And now he was here standing in front of the cot of six month old Ilyana Romanovsky, he pushed the heavy black draping aside and peered in. He had not known what he would see, but he had not expected this…, an entirely normal, beautiful child. She had a mass of dark curls, plump ruby lips and her eyes, her beautiful wide round eyes, Vladov could have sworn they were violet. _

_Little Ilyana was awake and as wonderfully playful. She cooed at him and gurgled loudly, reaching up with both her fat little hands for something to take hold of. She laughed and Vladov panicked, looking to the door, he hastily placed a finger over her mouth to shush her thinking that a baby would understand such a desperate call for silence._

_But Ilyana did quieten down to Vladov's immense relief, until he realised just why the baby had gotten so peaceful. She was suckling his finger, not unusual in itself, that is until Vladov saw that the finger she was so focused on was bleeding! He had gotten a splinter and a cut from the wooden stake, and now she was drinking from him, drinking his blood!_

_He pulled away in abject horror, but the baby began to mew loudly and Vladov was forced to replace the finger between her ready lips. He raised the stake in his other hand and held it over Ilyana's infant form, believing himself wholly ready to do what was required._

_But he could not, watching her lull gently back into a content sleep, he found he could not, and replacing the stake in its clasp around his belt, he gathered the coverlets around her, took down the hanging for extra warmth and bundling the now sleeping babe in his arms he hurried out of the room and to the steep steps out of the castle._

_

* * *

He was panting hard, the beast was only a few hundred feet behind him and gaining fast, he could almost smell its fetid breath as it hunted him down. Dracula's wolfman was hard on his tail and Vladov was fast running out of strength, it had been a vain hope to think he could escape the castle undetected; his scent was caught up as soon as he had stepped out into the cold night air. And the chase had begun._

_He was running almost blind, Siberia's near permanent winter was in full force and the blizzard threw blasts of icy wind and chilling snow in his face. He held Ilyana tightly against his chest as he arrived at the end of the bridge. The stone structure was set at an impossibly dizzying height from the ground, the only means of connecting the castle to the ridge opposite. The Romanovsky castle had been impressively built centuries ago, solely with the intention of keeping invaders at bay it had been set as an island almost in the middle of a lake with the large stone bridge being the only means of leaving or entering the fortress. _

_It was here that Vladov was forced to come to complete halt as with a sudden leap over his head the wolf man landed in front of him, baring fangs and growling menacingly. The thing crouched low, and circling him slowly was ready to pounce. Vladov instinctively moved back until he was in the middle of the bridge again._

'_No, not yet…' A voice as cold as the night air called out and instantly the wolf man came to heel, Dracula stepped out of the shadows and petted the thing affectionately over the head._

_Vladov stared at the Count intently his young heart ready to burst with fear, its rapid and erratic beating caught Dracula's ears and he smiled. Moving forward he circled Vladov as menacingly as the wolf man had._

'_Don't I know you boy…?' Dracula asked suddenly, recognition causing him to smile yet further. Vladov barely found enough courage to shake his head._

_But Vladilaus was insistent, 'Yes I do, you belong to Volyev don't you…?' He laughed outright now, 'well, well it seems the apprentice is usurping the master, I'm sure Volyev will be intrigued…' Then as quickly as all that Dracula transformed himself into his full terrifying spectacle, towering over Vladov with his wings outstretched and his fury clear._

'_Give me the child…!' He roared and Vladov was sure he had never heard or would ever hear again anything so terrifying._

_But instead of complying Vladov did the only he knew he could and turning he ran towards the edge of the bridge and flung himself over with Ilyana still in his arms…rushing headfirst into the frozen lake  
_

* * *

Van Helsing crouched next to the empty grave and studied the soil closely. The area had been clawed at; the hole had been climbed out of. He looked up at Carl who was stood to one side making a silent prayer. He looked towards the horses, they were far back from the cemetery having refused to come any further but still even at a distance they were visibly nervous. Whinnying and shaking their manes restlessly, Van Helsing had come to trust the instincts of animals when it came to sensing evil almost as much as he did his own. 

Turning back to the grave he picked something out of the soil and held it up for Carl to see, the poor friar turned a shade almost as putrid green as the object Van Helsing held up, it was a deformed rotten finger, one that had once no doubt been attached to a dead body.

'These poor souls they're alive when they climb out of their graves…' he asked in a trembling voice.

'No…' Van Helsing replied, 'not really alive, some sort of suspended animation but not truly alive.' He looked around at the half-dozen empty graves.

'But, something is bringing these wretches back isn't it Gabriel?' Van Helsing tossed the finger back into the hole. He looked towards Carl sternly.

'Not something Carl, someone…_Necromancers_…'


	3. Like A Moth To A Flame

**Part 3- 'Like A Moth To A Flame…'**

The years had been hard on Vladov Kinsky, though given he was a man approaching his eighties he looked remarkably well, but then reaching eighty had taken all of 200 years. He had not noticed it at first the way time seemed to be moving slower for him than everybody else, Ilyana was ageing to him it appeared at least as a normal child.

Being part human the implications of sustained life would not take full effect until she reached her teenage years. So she grew normally, and it was not until her eighteenth birthday and Vladov had caught his reflection in the dirty mirror of their room at an inn that Vladov realised the terrible price he was paying for his guardianship of Ilyana.

By all appearances he should now have been the age of thirty, a life constantly on the move, constant worry and lack of sleep ought to have taken their toll on his features, the onset of fine wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, a heavy sagged look crossing his brow, but no, he looked as healthy and as fresh faced as a twenty year old. He had dismissed it then, more out of wishful thinking than anything else, and persuaded himself into believing that he was just blessed with a constant youthful appearance.

But the years, the decades and eventually the centuries fell away, and Vladov had loved and lost more than once in those bitter years. Throughout the years he had kept a stringent watch on his guard Ilyana. She was constantly by his side, as dependant on him as he was determined to ensure that Count Vladislaus still believed she was dead.

It had taken all of his strength and all of the skill of the Order of Lights to ensure that they survived. He had remembered hitting the ice, a spell on his part as he descended had thinned the ice enough to ensure they broke through it, but the freezing cold depths of water were beyond his novice call, and before he lost consciousness he had sent out a desperate cry to the Order, who readily complied.

Ilyana and he had been separated in the cold depths, somehow she had drifted through the water to apparently wash up through a crack in the ice and appear on the opposite bank. To all this he was of course oblivious, though he was extracted from the lake and revived within minutes by the Order, he had believed even as he awoke that he still carried the child safely within his arms.

He had stared stupidly at his open and empty hands, as a wave of terrible guilt and loss washed over him, _'Is it done? Is the child vanquished?'_ The voice had appeared in his head, an intrusive, unwelcome guest. The Order was asking for confirmation of his kill. _'Yes…'_ He lied, though not entirely a lie, he may not have staked the child, but surely she had drowned? Dead either way, they would not care how.

It was only when Vladov had raised himself to his weary feet and through some urgent notion glanced at the other side of the lake that he had noticed the bundle, a shapeless form causing a mark in the tall reeds. Through some blind hope he ran across the lake, running, stumbling, hoping. It seemed forever before he reached the place and dropping to his nears, he saw the back of a head, an abundance of black curls. The form was unmoving and his heart broke as he turned the child over. She was as cold as the ice itself; her lips had already turned blue, her skin yet more deathly pale.

Possessed by grief and desperation Vladov had taken his knife and inflicted a deep gash in the palm of his hand, the blood took a while before it would flow because of the cold, but eventually it seeped out, warm and sticky liquid he hoped would answer all his prayers.

He pressed the whole of his hand over her mouth and waited with baited breath, he seemed to wait an eternity. Little Ilyana did not move an inch, he waited forever before he gave up, letting his hand slip slowly from her lips his head hung mournfully as his blood smeared pitifully across her face.

Vladov was still engulfed in his grief when he caught the first scream from Ilyana's now piercing lungs! She was alive and Vladov had never been gladder of anything in his life.

Somewhere along the point from stealing Ilyana, being hunted by the Count and plunging into a frozen lake, Vladov had come to have a deep attachment to this little girl. He had begun to see her as the younger sister he had left behind when he was taken from the village he had been born. The attachment had grown so fast that it scared him a little, but it was within the same instant he knew that his sense of protectiveness was so great that he would lay down his life for this girl if it was ever needed.

For now it was enough that she was alive, but if she continued screaming that wouldn't last long. Rapidly pulling the coverlets around her he scooped her up into his arms and making low across the lake's edge stuck close to the bushes, here he crouched, hidden until he was certain all was quiet. He eventually rose and vainly trying to ignore the cramp in his legs, ran across the vast snow covered plain. He had run and run, unsure of what to do next.

* * *

And so the lie the had remained, Vladov had through reasons he had stated as simply being ones guilt at the death of an infant, respectfully resigned his post in echelons of the Order Of Light, and stated his desire to live the life of a recluse.

The Order had seen no reason to doubt, and no compunction with which to bind him, he was released therefore, sent into the world with just enough knowledge of the Order's spells and craft to enable him to seek a living as a healer.

It was enough that he had taken that wretch of a child out of this world; they had no further need of him. But unbeknownst to them, that child had lived and was living, as his ward and in his care.

* * *

But at times his ward had proved difficult, the Great Northern War had proven one of those times. They had been travelling, along the borders of Estonia, the year had been 1718 and with Vladov foolishly believing that they would successfully negotiate the rare trodden and forgotten paths of the dense forest, and avoid the armies that littered the plateaus below.

And for a while they did, but it had been his mistake, too many years of becoming complacent as to what Ilyana's true nature was, and what she could not help had led him to think that they would shelter in amongst the trees for the night, safely tucked away beneath the evergreens and hidden form the soldier's campfires burning only a few miles away.

It had been his mistake, to have assumed that the small cup of pig's blood he had carried with him would be enough for her, to satiate that thirst he had known to always been burning inside her. There had been nothing, no sign that she needed, thirsted for something more. Realisation had come in the middle of that cold night.

Vladov had awoken to find her gone, and in the far distance he head screams, below him, far into the campfires that still burned, he heard the blood-curdling screams. Battle hardened soldiers screamed in abject horror. He had raced down that muddy path, always knowing and dreading what he would find.

Still a few feet away from the soldiers camp, Vladov literally stumbled upon his first horror, falling to the ground he raised himself slowly only to find himself staring at the sightless hollow eyes of Russian soldier. The young boy's gaze was fixed in a silent scream, the last sound he had made, two sharp puncture wound marking his neck and confirming every thought Vladov never wanted to have.

Dragging his feet further, the horror building in his mind, Vladov found her at last, the damage done, the night and the soldiers proving a cruel temptation she could never have forsaken. By the time had had found her she had decimated that small platoon of soldiers, nothing but cold bones and sightless, fear stricken gazes remained.

And she, Ilyana, kneeling in the middle of it all, her hands and her face coated in blood, the fangs, inheritance of her birth were protruding, shining and glistening in the cold darkness of the night. She stared up at him as he stood above her, the tears streaming down her cheeks, the violet eyes overflowing.

'Vladov…' she whispered, her voice etched and marked by a pain beyond the years, carried over to him, a mournful call in the dark. 'Vladov…' she repeated, 'what have I done?'

And all the regret, all the pitiful sorrow she had to offer she knew would never be enough, realisation had come to her as well, this monster they had for so long fought to keep chained inside would be abated no more. In a frenzied moment she had lost herself, control fleeted away in a simple puff of breath.

'Kill me.' Resolution firmed her words and her voice at last, as she stared up at her companion, the man she had looked up to as a brother for so long, her comforter, her friend. 'Kill me…!' She all but screamed at him.

He shook his head, she stared at the small cross he wore around his neck, a simple silver cross it glinted in the moonlight, one of the small remnants he carried of his faith and a token of what had once been his allegiance to the Order of Light.

Ilyana pulled herself to her feet and stepped towards him, he pulled back almost instinctively, 'kill me, in the name of the God you swore to serve Vladov, in the name of the Order you betrayed by letting me live…kill me!'

He moved back yet as grief and bitterness shook her to the core, she lunged for him once more only to fall at his feet, a pitiful mewing mumbling from her lips as she fought to rub away the blood encrusted on her hands. She ground her hands into the dirt, willing the soil to carry her sins away.

Vladov knelt down besides her, wrapping his strong arms about her, he drew her close to his chest, 'we will do better Ilya…' he used his pet name for her, the one he'd imprinted on her as a child, 'I promise you, _I_ will do better.'

* * *

But for all Vladov promised to Ilyana it was not enough, her resolve had been shaken, every foundation rotted right down to its core, she had seen the nature of the beast, and the reflection was a truth that could not be borne.

Vladov had awoken that second night to find her gone. He had never intended to fall asleep, but an almost relentless vigil had left him exhausted, a momentary lapse and she had taken her chance.

His fears resounded not only for those she would encounter but for Ilyana herself, for more than a century he'd been by her side, a restraining hand, a gentle reproach. And now she had shaken him off, and was out there, among the multitudes of unsuspecting souls, alone and unrestrained.

Vladov had begun his search immediately, and soon found he was not the only one on her trail. There was another, a hunter, Vladov of heard of these men, loyal to the Pope in everything, from every aspect of their lives and through the death they meted out. A vampire hunter was hunting _his_ Ilya, for all her flaws she was still his little sister, and despite what he had seen in her mere hours ago, she always would be his little Ilya.

It seemed the slaughter of the soldiers had becoming a thing of common knowledge, the puncture wounds on their necks and the ease and voracity with which blood had been spilt pointed to one thing alone, the presence of a vampire.

It had taken all of Vladov's skills; every lesson in tracking he had learnt from the Order to find her a second time, and when he did find her, it seemed she had gotten close to what she had asked from him, death.

* * *

Out in the borders of Latvia and an abandoned farmhouse he found her in a makeshift bed, her arms and legs chained to the rusted metal bedposts, a dozen stakes punctured varying parts of her body each painful in its own right, but none dealing the final killing blow.

It was cruelty in its vilest form; she had been left to bleed to death, chained and useless, unable to use her superior strength normally intrinsic to a vampire to free her self. Vladov

Would later find that she hadn't had that sort of strength for days, Ilyana had been deliberately starving herself of the very sustenance she needed. She hadn't fed in the last weeks that he had been looking for her, not pig's blood or any other.

The sight of her chained to that bed, half-naked and nearing death haunted him from that day to this, he would see her, weak and emaciated, her normally strong physique reduced to pathetic bones and sagging skin.

And it was the hunter who had done this to her, reduced to that pathetic state, he had broken her body in so many pieces, but to her mind and to her heart he had been yet more vicious.

Ilyana would not tell him what the hunter had done to her, but Vladov knew, deep inside he knew, she would never have let anyone close enough to hurt her, that hunter had gained and betrayed a trust with Ilyana that had left her broken for months on end. He had tricked her, used her and left her for dead.

Eventually Ilyana recovered, enough to realise that though she could never be reconciled with what she truly was, she had a right to exist all the same. Her claim to the life she had been given was hers alone, and no hunter, no manic preacher from the Holy Vatican was to take that from her. She did exist and would carry on existing, and if that meant her life would be one amongst the shadows then so be it, she would live in darkness.

And her energy, the characteristics she had been equally blessed and cursed with would be used to her advantage; she would in turn seek out the monsters that fed on the fears of others, the warlocks, the ogres and everything of every vicious nightmare that preyed on the innocent she would dispose of. And all of it cloaked within the shadows of the night.

* * *

She trained and honed her skills; with the help of Vladov she became as skilled as any hunter allied to the church, and for them her hate had yet to be abated, for their monks and their killers and for their God the bitter hatred ran deep.

It was with amusement then that she watched from atop the hill as a hunter of the church struggled with the puppets summoned by the necromancer. She heard the monk call out to him as he was besieged from all sides.

'GABRIEL…!' he yelled before the monk found himself being to the ground. Ilyana's eyes twinkled, her gaze shifting and her stare fixed on the hunter once more. She saw him struggle as his sword arm was gripped by the putrid rotting flesh of a walking corpse.

'Better to put him out of his misery,' she smilingly thought, her teeth gritted she set an arrow in her crossbow, pulling the mechanism taut, her eyes fixed glinting in a cold light she took careful aim at Gabriel's head…


End file.
